Where was Devon? She had to know if Lord Needleham had accepted the money. And why had Devon offered it? Merely to secure Abigail’s friendship?
She raised her skirts and jogged toward Cheapside.
What a deal to strike. Lillian would get the wallflowers. The earl would keep his coffers filled.
While Devon gained nothing.
Unless Lillian could stop it all from happening. If it was happening. Curse Needleham! She’d have to set her papa on his tendons.
But first, she had to find Devon.
CHAPTER26
Devon studied his brother’s profile closer than he had ever done before. Every expression was scrutinized and analyzed for meaning. Such scrutiny was necessary because Arthur had not said a word since they walked through the door of Frederick’s. Since Arthur’s face gave away nothing, Devon swept his gaze over the coffeehouse in an attempt to see it as his brother must see it. The long table, the bar, a giant copper pot near the back where the coffee bubbled and boiled, the philosophers barking at each other, and Freddy and Mrs. Freddy bustling about with wide grins, likely thinking of Bath and a residence that didn’t smell like burning beans.
Devon adored it all, and he’d been prepared to give it all up.
Perhaps he did not have to.
Perhaps he could keep the cauldron and the cozy warmth, the echoes of a bustling establishment, the faded light and doubtful illumination of new philosophies, the chatting patrons, alert minds, and passionate hearts.
Arthur’s profile finally broke, his lips parting. “This is what you wish to show me, then?” His gaze rolled slowly to Devon. “Why?”
“I own it,” Devon said. “Or I will. We started the process yesterday. But since then, I’ve…” He inhaled deeply and called up an image of Lillian to steady his nerves. “I’ve lost it all, every penny I saved to buy this place.”
Arthur went so still he could stand in front of Parliament and pigeons would build nests on him, thinking him a statue. “Putting aside the fact that you’ve bought a place of business—”
“Think of it as an investment, Brother. Even the likes of you have those.”
“How,” Arthur continued as if he’d never been interrupted, “did you lose it?”
“Ah. Perhaps lost was the wrong word to use.” It had felt like a loss, though. Yet he’d gladly done it. “I spent it on something Lillian desperately needed.”
Arthur clutched his heart and melted like a candle. “You had me terrified for a moment. I know you went through a rough bit last year, but I thought you’d recovered admirably. I’m glad to see I was not wrong.” He shook his head. “I should never have doubted you. Even at your worst, you’re more a bosky annoyance than a careless profligate.”
“Thank you?”
“Why bring me here? To this”—his gaze roamed the room—“investment?”
“King Art. Always focused.”
“Well?”
“I still wish to own Frederick’s. Without the money to buy it outright, I must resort to other methods. I have my inheritance, but… I was hoping to leave as much of it as possible for my children.” He almost laughed himself onto the floor. To think he, who refused any familial help, would insist on making sure his future heirs were well-provided for.
When he’d woken up in the dusty workshop that morning, he’d begun to see the world anew, to see himself anew. He was no replacement man, and his brother’s life or death did not define him.
He held his arms out wide. “It’s a good investment for you, too. I have the plan up here.” He tapped his temple. “I’ll put it down on paper, and I’ll give it to you. I’m going to improve this place. Hire a man to run it. Perhaps open more locations. If you listen to Freddy, coffeehouses are not à la mode as they once were, but… I have—I do realize how repetitive I sound—a plan.”
Arthur scratched his jaw and looked around with renewed curiosity. “I’m interested, but”—he crossed his arms over his chest—“I admit to feeling lost. How long have you been aiming for this? Why a coffeehouse?”
The thought of telling Arthur all his deepest feelings, about this place in particular, felt like pulling teeth right out of his mouth. But Arthur was handing him the extractors, and he’d do it. He could have avoided the unfortunate ballroom brawl if he’d done this much sooner. What a stubborn ass he’d been. His stupidity may have lost him Lillian.
She hated him. With good reason. He’d not held up his end of their bargain, and when negotiations failed during war, the battle recommenced. Only this time there were already casualties.
He ignored Lillian’s saber, still protruding through his ribs, and invited Arthur to sit at the long table.
“What is this?” Arthur asked, poking at Devon’s invention.
